


Expected in Valinor

by ManiacalBeauty



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom, The Hobbit, lotr - Fandom
Genre: Elanora - Freeform, Flashbacks, Love, M/M, Memories, Multi, Other, Sad Sam, Valinor, uncle Frodo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4148919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManiacalBeauty/pseuds/ManiacalBeauty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Sequel to The Road Goes Ever On) what happens to Samwise and how does his life turn out after his beloved Frodo has left? How has he coped and what has he accomplished? How have the other members and friends from the Quest and the dear Shire been getting along? What memories and unspoken grief will occur? And most importantly, when will Sam get his own release in Valinor, and will Frodo still mean what he said on the dock before they last parted ways? A story of how the river was splashed into rivulets and the dropping of the petal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frodo's Portrait

Samwise woke up to the light of a blue sky morning. The natural dawn coloring through the curtains and spilling across the wooden beams of the bedroom ceiling. He could hear the chirps of birds and the distant gurgling of the River. As he slowly sat up, he looked over at the sleeping form next him, a faint smile playing across his aged face. He brought a hand through the blond curls of Rosie, hints of grey showing through the golden strands, and then brought a hand through his own to comb his curly bed head. Rosie barely stirred during this morning ritual of his that she had grown so used to, just smiled and groaned sleepily when he crawled out of bed, joints cracking a little as his large feet hit the floorboards. He went to the wash stand, and filled up his pipe. As he tampered with the tobacco, he brought a horse hair comb quickly through his greying hair, and sighed as he brought out a pair of overalls and cotton shirt. As for the vest, he thought blue would be nice. Blue was perfect. He then splashed a drought of water on his face from the basin, letting his fingers drag down the flesh of his cheeks as he scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He didn't look much different, even though he was 72. His cherubic face and moss green eyes still fairly vibrant, just a few laugh lines, wrinkles... Not to mention the added weight and the greying of hair, though there was some blond left. Yes, he had aged quite well. Ever since the departure, he had become Mayor of the Shire, raised his children, had several traveling experiences, visiting his friends from the days of the Ring, (especially Legolas and Gimli, who now lived together in the woods by the Mines of Moria), and was working on finishing Frodo's book. He had written the last line just yesterday. Elanora was married off to one of Merry and Pippin's sons, who worked with Sam in the council, and his second son, Frodo, was married off to a lovely elf maiden from Rivendell. As for the others, they were flighty, golden- haired things spread across Middle Earth, doing studies and travel, and who knows what. He got a letter from little Stella about staying with Aragorn and Arwen at the castle. Rosie and Sam had the house to themselves, and he was going through the stages of resigning as Mayor and giving the position to Elanora's husband. Sam thought of Elanora with a content smile. Not to brag, but she had to be the loveliest hobbit woman in all the Shire. She had light brown hair and eyes of such a piercing blue color, unlike Rosie and Sam's own hazel and green, that constantly reminded him of Frodo. She still carried the tinkling laugh she's had since a child, dimples, and the best smile there ever was. She often visited her father with a peck on the cheek, and some fresh talk about town, and the conversation would always end with some remark or reference to her Uncle Frodo. She had never forgotten, and after it happened, she would often sneak out to their special spot by the river and cry herself to sleep, only to be found close to dawn by Sam, who would carry her home. He sighed as he got on his clothes and headed off to the kitchen for breakfast, passing by his desk with the complete leather bound book, finished yesterday. He thought about packing a bag for the voyage to Valinor tomorrow, but then realized what a stupid idea this was. He would need nothing. His thoughts wandered to Rosie as he set the kettle on. He knew that she knew all along, knew that she also knew he would be leaving soon. And she was okay with it all, she understood, she was calm. They had obviously had a very good life together, and he loved her immensely. He would never forget the weeks following after Frodo's departure that lead to long weary months. He was absent from all the world. He tried his best to keep the good, old-fashioned Samwise character up, but found himself slipping back again and again. He wandered to the River, waking up to the loving worried eyes of Rosie and forgetting how he got there. He remembered sitting huddled in front of the old fireplace in Frodo and Bilbo's home just before it got auctioned off. He had packed all of Frodo's belongings. Some, he put in storage and kept to himself privately, often going to them and touching them lovingly with aching eyes, remembering them. Then there were the several nights where the Gamgee household would cosy up by the fire, the kids expecting a story. Sam always told the best stories, setting up his pipe and telling a legend from his quest to destroy the Ring. They were all about the others though, never of Frodo and himself. One particular night, two weeks after the farewell, Elanora sat upon his knee, and with wide eyes, asked Sam to tell a story about Uncle Frodo. "Tell me about Uncle, pop, tell me about the oliphaunts and the-" But Sam was already gone. His already red-rimmed eyes brimming with tears. Rosie immediately plucked Elanora off his lap, and sent all the children to bed with hushed placating tones and explanations that would appease their curious questions. "Dad's not well loves, go to sleep and you'll find the sun tomorrow." She kissed them all, then proceeded to blow out lamps and click the doors shut, leaning against the frame of the living room awhile with crossed arms as she watched her husband. He shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture before throwing himself into a fresh torrent of tears. She held him as he sobbed through the night. Things got better though, slowly he healed. He didn't visit Frodo's belongings as usual, the house was sold, and he hardly ever went to the river, unless he was fishing with Merry and Pippin. They all sat there contentedly by the river, and passed back and forth reflections of the great adventure, and fondness for Frodo, puffing tendrils of smoke lazily. He started his campaign to become Mayor, and got visits and support often. Gimli and Legolas were married, Legolas and Gimli laughing as they showed the intricate dwarf made bands on their fingers. Gimli's was a Firestone, Legolas an emerald. They adopted one 3 year old dwarf girl that was found wandering through the ruins of the mines, her parents dead. They visited as often as they could. Merry and Pippin cared after two rambunctious hobbit boys that they adopted from the village council after the refurbishment of the Shire. Their parents passed away during the miniature battle by the hands of two lake men. They got along with Sam's kids instantly, and he expected a marriage to come between one of the two boys, and Stella soon. Shortly after he was elected as Mayor, he went and visited every part of Middle Earth he could with Rosie, known and remembered fondly far and wide by many. And here he was now, old and fairly happy. Sure he had his episodes now and again. Nearly a month ago, he found himself running out to the docks, watching the harbor and screaming at the water. He wanted so badly to leave, but it was not yet time. He often had memory issues lately, and that affected his performance at work, and gave his family scares. He kept some portrait of Frodo he found in the family tree gallery in Bilbo and Frodo's home. He put the rest of the delicate frames in a wicker basket in storage, but snapped the chain that was connected to the other frame of Frodo's picture and concealed it in his cloak. Later that evening, he sat by the banks of the river dejectedly and smashed the glass frame against a rock, cutting his calloused fingers in the process. He swept aside the glass with shaking hands, not caring that shards and blood went off into the grassy banks and the water, and threw the silver frame with a plop under the bridge of the coursing stream. He finally had the fine paper in his marred hands, tracing the contours of his friends face painted with delicate watercolor. The blue eyes, the hair, the cut of his jaw, and then he talked to him. He told him with a wry smile about how Elanora had grown, how beautiful she had become. He told him about where he was at in the book, and his election as Mayor as he watched his blood swirl in the emerald river. Little did the hobbit know, was that Elanora watched the whole thing from behind her and Frodo's tree. She watched him as the tears went silently down her pallid cheeks. "You know, Mr. Frodo, there used to be that ugly worthless dirt pile, by the main hobbit hole? Well, we shoveled it out. The whole damn thing, Frodo, and we planted. We planted good old- fashioned flowers called... Marigolds, and then Elanora flowers. And it was spring when I got elected, and they were in full bloom, and I thought of you. And- and then," Sam grimaced and wiped at his grimy face with exasperation, "Gimli and Legolas visited, and they have a little girl, and the funny thing is, is that she has flaming red hair like Gimli, as if he was the actual father!" He laughed, long and loud and manic, clutching the painting with shaking hands "And she is a smart one, by thunder is she smart. And he's good with a bow. You should see Legolas teach him about her form." Elanora crept from behind the tree with shaking limbs and crept closer to her father. He didn't notice of course. "And you know what else Mr. Frodo? I did everything you told me to do, and I've been waiting, patiently, but I haven't gotten any answers for when I can finally leave this place, and my heart aches, it aches to see you." Elanora hitched a quiet breath, not that she was surprised of course, she knew all along. "And even I, Mr. Frodo, even I sometimes lose faith in what we have fought for, how we still managed to have that moment in the end. Sometimes I forget what you have looked like, or what we secretly had. But I have this painting to remind me. And I will never- never give up. I will keep following you." Crickets chirped, and the stream gurgled happily. Elanora came to her father's side and put her arm around him. They studied Frodo's face with quiet solemnity. "I miss him too, dad." She whispered, lacing her hand through his. They stayed there till morning, in silence. Sam sighed with the dawn.


	2. Time to Go

After Sam had one or two breakfasts, he set up his messenger bag and grabbed the book. Rosie shuffled in her robe, fading hair pleasantly disarrayed in every which way. "Morning love." Sam chuckled as he pecked her on the cheek. "Where are you off to?" She mumbled, fixing his vest before heading over to make some tea. "Regular errands, I'll be back by nightfall." Rosie nodded and he headed out the door, grabbing his cloak and green leaf pin on the way. Frodo's portrait lay in its pouch in his trouser pocket. Rosie watched him walk down the road with sad eyes. She could feel it coming. Sam went past the village. It was still fairly early in the morning, but gardeners, those who had to travel out East for work, and those part of the council were out, either on the road, or tampering with their pipes and purses as wives and children or husbands and children flitted about them around the doorway. The few that saw Sam's familiar figure, saluted him happily as he went, and he gave them warm greetings in return. He met the all too familiar fork in the road, and went to the left, heading up the hill. Elanora and her husband, Hodin Brandybuck, lived at the end of the same road where the old Baggins house resided. It was a charming, spacious hobbit hole with a dark blue door and brass handle. Lanterns hung at each side of the doorway, and they had quite the splendid garden. Elanora got the skills from the guidance of her father, who spent hours with her once he recovered from the departure in the garden, telling her about things such as the history of her own name. How when he went to Lothlorien and noticed the species of that flower there with Frodo and instantly fell in love. Since they weren't native to the Shire, he ordered them from there and tried to spread them around as much as possible. Together, they managed to have the flowers thread in an intricate design all over the grassy roof of Elanora and Hodins home. He walked up, his stiff legs protesting, and took a light tap to the door with his walking stick, the corner of his pipe dipping out of his mouth. He heard a chirp from Elanora and a low chuckle from Hodin as Elanora danced to the door. She opened it wide and saw her father, face breaking into a soft smile. She had just woken up it seemed, and her pretty face seemed rosy and content, blue eyes sparkling that made Sam's breath hitch every time he looked into them. She was pregnant a second time, two months in, and her first child was a boy. They named him Pip, and he was almost a year old. He had started tottering around on his little hobbit feet, always keeping the young parents on their toes. A pot in the kitchen shattered and shrill laughter could be heard from the mouth of the rascal. Hodin muttered under his breath. Elanora barely blinked as she moved forward to embrace her dad. "Hello Pop." She said, grabbing his walking stick and making room for him to enter in the doorway. Hodin walked from the kitchen and his jovial face broke into an even larger smile. The little devil he was holding was practically swinging from his ankles, held in a death grip with one hand by his father. Sam came up and grabbed the child, bringing him onto his lap as he sat down in a rocking chair in the living room and tickled Pip's sides playfully. The child giggled uncontrollably and Sam smiled. He handed the kid a honey stick which got him distracted and proceeded to talk to Elanora and Hodin. "Think you're ready to be my replacement, Mr. Brandybuck?" Sam gave the younger hobbit a devilish look. Hodin chuckled and maneuvered around his wife with a loving kiss as he headed to the mantle to grab his cuff links. He had work that day in about half an hour. He then grabbed his pipe and headed in the chair across from Samwise. "I think so, dad" he put a pinch in the bowl and lit it up, settling back comfortably. Pip played with his grandfathers hair and gurgled happily as the sweet honey dripped down his chin. Sam wiped it off and ruffled his hair, as he smiled sadly. He would never see the chap grow up, or witness the birth of Elanora's second child, or be their for the rest of his kids marriages, but they would be alright. He would finally find his center, and they would understand. "How are your fathers?" Sam crooked an eyebrow at his son in law. "I haven't fished or went to the pub with them in awhile." "Oh" Hodin said, taking a thoughtful puff. Elanora had long since been in the kitchen, cooking up perch and eggs for her first breakfast. Her latest pregnant craving had been perch, and Hodin was constantly going to the river to fish or at the markets if he had no luck there. Elanora often went to keep company with her husband while he fished, letting Pip play at the bank. Once in a while, her blue eyes teared up from the familiarity. "My fathers are doing splendid, I think. Pippin is always worrying about Amaren being too far away with your girl Stella in the realms of Rohan and whatnot. Merry is trying his best to placate and keep everyone in order. They're planning a trip to Rivendell, I believe." Sam's brow furrowed, but he nodded slowly. "Good." He sounded tired. "That's good." Hodin looked at him with mild concern. "You okay, Dad?" He asked, leaning forward and making his chair creak. Sam didn't answer for a moment, reaching into his messenger bag and feeling for the multiple letters he had inside along with Frodo's portrait and the thick complete novel. For the past month, he had been making visits, and writing letters to family. First, he wrote a letter to Stella, and gave her a portion of money along with a few of his books and maps. He sent a letter to his son Frodo, with a jeweled bracelet from some cave he visited in his travels for his Elven wife, and his old sword along with a portion of money. He visited his son about a week ago and stayed for a couple days, bestowing the letter and gifts to him at the very end with instructions to not open it till May 7th, the date tomorrow. He gave Arwen and Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas, and several other acquaintances and dear friends he met in his life, letters and several gifts to the point where he really had nothing left. He went over his will quietly with Rosie on a warm afternoon. All that was left were the letters and former possessions of his to give to Merry and Pippin, and Elanora and Hodin. He gave Mr. and Mr. Brandybuck his pipe set, some of his desk supplies, and of course, a letter. As for his dearest Elanora, he would be giving her his green leaf pin, directed the order of Elanora flowers to her household, and then the book with Frodo's portrait, and a letter. A separate letter and a letter that had a completely different meaning to everything contained inside the novel. He had everything sorted out, and he planned to leave quietly and peacefully. He went out of his trance and withdrew his hand from the messenger bag, holding the letter and notice of shipment for his gifts to Merry and Pippin. "Everything is quite alright, Hodin" Sam said in his cheerfully strained voice, handing the letters over to a curious Hobbit. "Now those, Brandybuck, are for your folks, along with a shipment notice. Make sure to give this to them when you and Elanora go to visit them this Saturday. "Why, dad, I thought you were coming along with Rosie, and the rest of us together to go and visit them for the week." "Oh no, just Mrs. Gamgee this time around. I have some old business to attend to here before I resign as Mayor of the Shire." "Some... Business? Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" "'No, no, that won't be necessary. Take as much stress free periods as you can before you undertake that job, Brandybuck." They chuckled lowly, and Pip slid off of Sam's lap to fiddle with Grandpa Gamgee's pocket watch that had fallen down due to his curious fingers. Hodin got up and grabbed the letters from Samwise, setting them on the mantelpiece, then looped around into the kitchen, giving Elanora a kiss. "Should start heading down to the Council. Talking about the corn crop this year, my fiddle!" He grabbed his cloak and headed toward the door, Sam followed him there. "See ya, Pop!" He said cheerfully as he headed out. Sam put a hand on his shoulder and left to there longer than normal. "Good luck, Hodin." The young hobbit looked at him quizzically at his severity, but just nodded his head and smiled, patting Sam's hand before heading down the road. That was the last time that Samwise would see him again, but he didn't have to worry about his success or treating Elanora with everything one expects. He knew him since he was born. He closed the door and turned around, heading to the kitchen, but who he was expecting to go see was already in view. She stood leaning against the frame, Pip Held in her arms, tugging at a strand of hair and her slightly protruding belly in view behind her apron. Her face was streaked with tears, a lock of hair falling past her ear. Sam sighed, walking over to her to hold her in his arms. "Time to go?" She said thickly after a while, taking her weary head off of her father's shoulder and looking up at him. Sam smiled sadly. "Time to go." Elanora just nodded and wiped the stain she left on his vest that he's had for 50 years. Still perfect as the day he bought it with Frodo during some summer dance. They were so young, so happy, and he was in awe of Frodo's smile. "I could never be more proud of you, Ellie." He said, looking at her little face. "You will have such a good life. So many prospects, so many opportunities. And you have so many around you, to be here for you. It's just my time now. You know this." Elanora nodded thoughtfully. "Who told you? How do you know?" And Sam told her. He was sitting by the fire, alone to his thoughts, just after he got back from visiting his son Frodo in Rivendell, when he heard the singing. Elven singing to be exact, and it was unlike anything he had ever heard in all of his time. The fire was dancing, and there were silver and green and the deepest shades of blue set in the embers. The stars seemed to try and ghost through the windows, and his pipe was snuffed out and fell to the ground. And then it stopped. Sam was puzzled and intrigued and frightened, and then he thought that this must be it. He was so ready. He waited in the dark, for the fire had gone, for as long as what could be a minute or an hour. And then he saw the swish of white, and his front door clicked and swung open into the warm night of its own accord. The white wisp trailed over his window pane, heading to the right towards the river. Sam got up quickly, his pipe sitting dejectedly on the cold ground, tobacco scattering across the floor in a ring around it, sizzling slightly. He went out into the night and started down the country road, the whole thing seeming all too familiar and painful and raw. The light jetted more fiercely this time, and it forked out into the dark woods which groaned in response. He breathed out, starting to jog towards the entrance to the river. Before he knew it, he found himself in the center of the bridge and he looked down the course of the stream, where several yards away stood the wisp, bobbing over the water and seeming to look at him. Then, without warning, zipped directly at Samwise towards the bridge and zoomed upwards into the forest ceiling before dispersing with a crack that sounded like lightning. He had to be dreaming. He stood in a daze in the center of the bridge before he heard, "You are expected." He found himself crying, and as he looked down into the moonlit reflection in the water, he saw graceful sleek ships, almost like little boat toys set down the stream by children. They dispersed down the shimmering emerald highway, and he knew that he wouldn't be watching them leave. He would be getting on. Elanora was completely silent. The only sound being the ticking of the clock above the fireplace, and the sound of Pip Crawling around on the hardwood. "I see." Elanora said after a pause, both of them as if in a trance. She moved past him and looked out one of the round front windows. "You'll finally get to be with him." She whispered. The sky had gone overcast in the past 10 minutes, the flowers irregular splotches of color. "Yes, I hope so. But you understand, Elanora, that I loved, and still do love your mother." Elanora nodded. "Of course." "And I would stay to witness all that I will miss and to be here for you, regardless of seeing Frodo again. But I have to-" Elanora turned on her heel, picking up Pip and giving him a peck on the forehead. "You don't need to explain anything to me dad, I know. You must go, it has to be done, I know this." Sam nodded and gave a grim smile. "You always understood." "Do you think mom knew all along?" Sam paused for a moment. "I don't think your mother, nor I for that matter knew until the final moments before he left. We never have spoken of it, but she knew, and she's fine. Your mother is one of the most wonderful souls I know." Elanora smiled fondly. "She really is." "I want you to look after her, and there's also something- something else." As he spoke, he brought his hand in the messenger bag and smoothly pulled out the novel, pin, and letter. "I want you to make sure you publish the book." He held it out to her, and she automatically set Pip down and grabbed it with trembling hands. Sam had it embossed in the leather, and there were intricate carvings all over the cover. Stems of various flowers curled around the spine, creatures, lords, elves, hobbits living across the expanse, and the ring broken in two. He spent a year doing all those. As Elanora studied its beauty, he fumbled around in the hidden pocket in his cloak and pulled out the little leather pouch, sliding the portrait out into his palm. He came closer to his daughter and lifted the front cover, sliding it into the first page. "Now these, Elanora, are yours." He said softly, taking off the pin fastened at his neck and popping it into her palm. Smooth, iridescently green, perfect. "I want you to make sure the book is published." Elanora was beaming, her face and eyes holding the glow of someone he hoped he would yet see again soon. "Of course I'll do all these things. I love you so." Sam smiled with unshed tears gleaming in his eyes. He hugged her tightly for as long as he could, and then kissed and patted ? On the head With fondness. "I'm so proud of you, my beautiful girl." He winked at her, before making his way out the door. She followed him out, her apron billowing out in the early morning breeze, a light rain would be picking up. "Will you tell him?" She called out. Sam turned around, puzzled at first but then understood. "Will you just tell him that I-" "Of course. He would be proud of you too. So very proud, Ellie." Elanora beamed and then watched her father head down the road long after he was out of sight. When the rain started to come down, creating rivulets on her pale face, mixing with tears she didn't realize she had, she turned and went back inside. She sent Pip to bed, and then grabbed Frodo's picture, hanging it up above the fireplace on the mantel. The book, she set in her and Hodin's study. The perch she made was long cold, and the whispers of a song traveled through her head and out of her mouth with beautiful chorus "The road goes ever on..."


	3. Blue Reflections

One thing to be mentioned about after Frodo had gone, was that Sam placed something by the river to serve as honor and memory for him. It was a petrified wood bench, carved with Elvish and stars and hills and valleys and swords... Under the tree. Sam often went and visited that place every day. Either smoking his pipe, working on the book, or just simply reflecting. He could stare for hours at the swirling course, finding himself still there well until nightfall. And a lot of the time, he was haunted by this one memory, this one memory where he knew something that he regrets never having caught sooner. Sam ran through the trees with rapid breath, hoping that he would be able to make it on time. The white beach was so very close, cutting through in jagged lines through the branches. He took a leap through the clearing and tumbled off into the powdery sand, that cascaded off into speckled pebbles when it got closer to the water. Frodo's small frame could be seen, tugging desperately at one of the wooden boats, setting it off into the water, and clambering in. His skin was ashen, his black curls tossing in the wind. He had just had the confrontation with Boromir before the Orcs. And he was frightened. Running away like a dazed child, consumed by the frightening reality of the Ring, and the terror it ensued. This was his curse, and someone threatened to take it away. He pushed off the shore, and started off. "Frodo!" Sam called, his voice cutting out into the cool air. One of their suns dissappeared behind a downy cloud. Frodo turned around so quickly, he nearly snapped his own neck. His bottom lip was trembling, and he realized he wasn't quite sure which course he would take on this body of water. Sam scrambled to the shoreline, his furry toes emerging themselves into the frigid water. He continued on up to his knees, to the hem of his tattered trousers. "Sam!" Frodo called back. His tone half agitated, half relieved to see the calming green eyes that flamed across the water. "Where do you think you're going?" Sam cried, he was sorely tempted to go even further in, but he could not swim. Maybe that could change. This was his duty, this was his purpose. It was Frodo. He had to follow. "I'm going to finish this Sam!" Sam nodded his head. "Yes, and I'm coming with you!" He waded out to his stomach, gritting his teeth against it, before he took a breath and jumped in to his chin and started kicking and pulling at the current without a thought. Frodo knew he couldn't swim, and gasped, standing up in the boat and watching his friends golden head bob through the slight waves. "Sam, you idiot! What are you doing?" Sam didn't listen, just kept struggling to get closer and keep his head up at the same time. Frodo had no choice but to paddle towards Sam, to give him relief before he drowned. He made it barely, Sam's head going under the surface and into the languid liquid. He could feel seaweed snaking around his legs. Frodo was absolutely frantic, hoisting his torso over the side and grabbing with a quaking hand at the extended arm going down below. After a few tries, he grabbed hold under the murky depths, Sam's calloused fingers wrapping around his automatically. Frodo pulled until Sam came back to him. Pulled until he was inside the boat, coughing and shaking. He fell over from the exertion and Sam tumbled with him. They sat there and caught their breath. After a few moments, Frodo yanked up Sam's chin and they looked at each other with a hint of stubbornness, devotion, and something else. Sam furrowed his brow, and Frodo looked down slightly, almost as if he was making a decision to do something, but then shook his head, pushing his friend off him gently and grabbing an oar. "Looks like I'm stuck with you then." Sam stood there abashed, trying to remember the feeling of the Ring on Frodo's neck being pressed against his chest, and the sound of the waves as they pretended nothing had happened, and rowed until nightfall. Yes, that was a memory that haunted Sam. He was convinced that ever since that moment wasn't acted upon, was their downfall. And seconds to minutes, to hours, days, weeks, months, years... Was spent in misery. Sam had taken care of all that needed to be done in the Shire, and finally went back home to Rosie. They laid next to each other in bed, listening to the chirp of crickets and watching the glow of fireflies, in unspoken conversation. He held her hand through the night till the grey morning, and then let go with a whispered goodbye and a kiss. It was time. He dressed in his outfit from the day before, put on a gray cloak, and ignored his walking stick. Onward he went. He passed the river, he passed Elanora's house, he passed Frodo's, and he went down the lonely road. The ever going, constant road. He thought of how stupid they have been. How ever since he worked for him in the garden, they had concealed it. As if the idea could never have been born, that it was absurd. All the countless glances of trust, and companionship, and that something else that in a snap would be called love. He hated himself for putting Rosie through it all. As if she didn't catch it in the glow of Gandalf's fireworks at Bilbo's birthday party, or during the best man speech. Frodo bled every night by the damned river out of pure torment, and Sam should have been there with him. Sure he was there from time to time, to hold him in what could only be cast off as a friendly gesture. But he should have proclaimed how he loved. Should of, Would of, Could of. Instead he buried and masked his feelings with hours upon hours of garden work, and attention to Rosie. He couldn't leave her, especially after she announced to him quietly with tears in her eyes that she was pregnant before they even got married. So it wasn't like he had a choice not to marry her, right? Wrong. Very, very wrong. And it's not like he forgot how he bit into his pillow every night to muffle the sounds of his sobbing, when he could hear the faint echoes of Frodo's own torment just down the road by the river. And it's not like he forgot the sense of dread and doom he felt when he got Frodo's letter and galloped till that horse nearly died and it's flanks bore sweat and steamed in the chilled morning dawn. Or when he scrambled off and went on the dock and got those final words. Those final kisses, those final tears. Well, not final tears at least, and hopefully, Sam thought, heart soaring with hope, no final kisses. He sat on that dock and nearly forgot who he was, until Merry and Pippin found him on the dock with beyond worried expressions and tears in their eyes, bringing him home. It was only until then that they knew. But now, Sam was content. With himself, with the morning, and he wasn't sad anymore. He didn't worry about the ones he would leave behind, and was only happy for now with what he had to face. And as he cut through the path in the woods, plotted through the sand, and his footsteps echoed on the dock, he let out a relaxed sigh. He stepped out into the sleek grey ship, nodded to the captain, and set off, ever so smoothly and quietly upon the waters. He would fulfill, this time. He would never leave him like he promised, he wouldn't be drowning, he would be boarding. The sun was climbing between the two large rocky domes, and once the ship broke through the entrance, he gave a real smile. A smile that hadn't graced his features in years. Through the voyage, as they got closer and closer to Valinor, his rusty joints were eased, the roots of his hair lightened from grey to their original color, and he was on his way home at last. The beauties that he saw on this journey, dear reader, are past the point of words, but let me say that he saw things that made memories flow. Happy ones that would ease a mind in the deepest throes of evil. He saw Elanora's smile, the smell of his garden on an early summer morning, and the emerald river. He felt music in his bones and light in his heart. He saw colors he could not name or knew existed, and he saw creatures and sights that were rare to behold. And when he saw the blue eyes that used to hint with the silver of blades and rotting fish, but now into serums of lights, and thousands of galaxies, he thought it was another one of his dreams. But then he saw his own awestruck face in those orbs, and the feeling of the boat as it nudged gently and sidled up to the dock, hitting home. And the scenery was beautiful, and Galdriel was smiling, and Gandalf was with Shadowfax on the crest of a nearby hill, but he didn't see them, not yet anyways. He was too focused on Frodo, and his arms pulling him in, and his lips upon his hair, his brow, his cheeks, his mouth... And they both smiled, their final tears streamed down their faces, and they had finally felt their release. They stood there embracing on their knees in the middle of the dock, and Frodo pulled back, brushing Sam's hair out of his face only to take a moment and say, "My dear Samwise..."


End file.
